A/N: I'm bowled over by the amount of people who've taken the time to review. Keep it coming guys….

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling and Co, BtVS/ AtS is the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, also known as the "Evil Sadistic Xander Mutilating Fiends". Grr, Argh indeed!

Note to self: Off soapbox, onto story.

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Chapter 7: Toil and Trouble

#Hogwarts#

It had been almost two weeks since Lily had humiliated the Slytherin Prince. Two weeks since the mysterious girl had appeared in her dream. During this time, Lily had tried her hardest to concentrate in her classes, wanting to live up to Dumbledore's expectation that she make the most of her time at Hogwarts. To everyone's surprise, including her own, she had proven quite good at 'this wacky magic stuff' (as she called it), although she had a slight tendency to overdo things.

Lily's first Charms class had proved disastrous; when trying to master a simple floating charm, she had not only set the feather alight, but the desk as well. Her Professors were somewhat stunned by the amount of power within the small girl; Dumbledore finally providing her with simple control exercises which had kept the Charms classroom flame-free.

Since then, she had come on in leaps and bounds. Though far from a perfect student (she held no great affection for either Herbology or History of Magic), Lily appeared eager and willing to learn about the world she was now residing in.

However, there were some classes that one simply *couldn't* concentrate in. Sitting between Harry and Ron in the hazy Divination classroom, Lily had to force herself to focus on what Professor Trelawney was saying.

" Class, my Inner Eye has informed me that it is time for us to begin our study of dreams. A dream is a tangible thing. It takes one who is truly Connected to the Higher Powers to………"

Beside Lily, Harry was on the verge of groaning out loud. Trying to look as though he was taking detailed notes as the bat-like woman droned on and on, he slid a piece of parchment under the table to Ron.

+Wish the old bat would ditch the fire – I think I'm starting to melt. Wonder whose death she predicted this year? There should be a wall of fame for the Chosen Possibly Dead Ones.+

Ron snorted with laughter, quickly disguising it as a cough when Trelawney's misty gaze drifted toward them. He scratched furiously on the parchment with his quill.

+Not yours – we'd have noticed by now. Probably one of the first years. Remind me when we choose our subjects next year that this is the most boring 'easy A' class ever. Maybe we'll get lucky and the Divination room will burn down. What've we got next?+

Harry didn't get the chance to reply as the class began moving around him. Startled, he looked helplessly toward Lavender Brown who was nearest to them. She passed their table, pausing to whisper to Lily, who grinned. Both girls shot exasperated looks at the Professor, something that Harry was only just getting used to seeing from Lavender. Previously a Trelawney-devotee, Lavender had abandoned her affection mid-fifth year after Trelawney had used her powers of 'prediction' in an attempt to damage Lavender and Parvati Patil's friendship. Parvati, needless to say, had not chosen to continue with Divination through sixth year, easy pass course or not.

Lily turned to the boys.

"Ol' Bat Features wants us to analyze our dreams and write her two rolls of parchment interpreting them – due by next class. She'll mark them according to what her 'Inner-Eye-for-pain-and-torment' tells her. She also predicted that someone in this room will be leaving at the end of the year."

Ron snorted again as they filed down the ladder into what he liked to call 'the sane world'. " We'll all be leaving at the end of the year – for the summer holidays. What a bloody amazing prediction!"

"Ron! Don't swear!" Hermione admonished, appearing from her Arithmancy class and falling into step with the trio as they headed toward the dungeons for Potions.

Ron shot a mock-glare at Hermione even as he groaned at the thought of another lesson with Snape. " Is it our fate to be cursed for eternity with double Potions plus a dose of Slytherin? Why, cruel world, why?" Harry grinned at his dramatics as they descended the staircase behind Neville Longbottom. Even after six years, the nervous boy still shook like a leaf at the thought of facing Professor Snape.

Said Professor was currently glaring at the group as they hurried to their seats. His eyes rested for a moment on Lily Asher, who had managed to firmly insert herself into the little group, a feat no other student had accomplished. She had taken a seat next to Longbottom and was currently whispering to him, no doubt trying to give him strength for the coming lesson.

"Miss Asher, if you are quite finished babbling incessantly, do allow me to start the lesson."

Not allowing her to reply, he rose from his desk and cast a cold glare around the room.

" Today you shall be attempting to brew a freeze-flame potion. At the conclusion the lesson, I will choose a student to assist me in testing their concoction. Now, which of you can tell me what this potion is used for? Ahhh… Longbottom. Do enlighten us with your continued wit and wealth of knowledge."

The round-faced boy went even paler than usual, his hands trembling. His voice came out as no more than a terrified squeak.

" Freeze-flame….. used for n-numbing the er….drinker….. from the effects of f-fire. A complex p-potion that has to be timed j-just right for it to work."

" Better than your normal standard, Longbottom. However, I fear it may be too complex for the likes of you. We shall see if you can prove me wrong, though I sincerely doubt it."

The Gryffindor gulped as he collapsed into his chair. Snape returned to his desk, motioning for the class to begin. After awhile, he rose and circled the room, watching the Gryffindor side carefully lest the insufferable Granger attempt to assist Longbottom. To his surprise, it was not Granger, but Lily Asher who was whispering into the unfortunate boys ear. His furious voice rang through the room.

"Miss Asher, I am sure Longbottom is perfectly capable of botching the task all on his own. I do not recall asking for your assistance. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Snape whirled sharply, robes flaring as he headed toward his desk. An equally furious voice stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, as far as popularity goes, you're fighting a losing battle."

The room went deathly quiet as Snape turned, eyes flashing. His voice, little more than a whisper, chilled many of the wide-eyed students to the bone. The small blonde figure at whom his rage was directed did not move.

"What did you just say to me?"

Lily stood her ground. " What's your childhood trauma? It wouldn't kill you to direct the tall, dark and cranky to someone else for a change."

Snape actually found himself taking a step backwards from the angry girl. He could practically *see* the power radiating from her form in shimmering waves. She continued, eyes narrowed.

" It obviously doesn't matter to you though. You chose Neville because you know he won't stand up to you. Because he's scared of you, like most of the students. Newsflash – there are badder, more unwashed nasties outside these walls. You don't scare me."

By this time, said students were watching wide-eyed as Snape's face turned an alarming shade of purple. He seemed to be struggling with himself. Several cringed as he opened his mouth.

"Miss Asher, I believe you have said enough. You will see me tonight after dinner, in my office. Class is dismissed." His voice came out strangled, but still controlled.

Nobody moved.

"OUT! NOW!"

Within an instant, the room was empty. Snape leant against his desk, his lip curled in a half-smile, half-sneer. The sight of her daring to stand up to him was possibly one of the most startling things he had ever seen, and yet he was not as angry as expected. In fact, he was somewhat intrigued.

Despite his earlier misgivings about Dumbledore's decision to take her on as a student, Snape had found himself not entirely disapproving of the Asher girl, Gryffindor or no. Something about her reminded him of….well, himself. While the mere hint of his presence seemed to intimidate others, it seemed to only encourage her to improve. Her expression was that of one who had seen far scarier things than him in her time.

In addition to this, she was possibly one of the less dunderheaded students he had taught, her sharp mind serving her rather well.

If only he could do something about her equally sharp tongue.

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#Sunnydale#

For once, everyone bar Anya and Xander had gathered in Giles' living room rather than at the Magic Box. While many of the books rescued from the now-charcoal Sunnydale High Library remained at the shop, the more obscure were housed in the Englishman's private collection.

Plus, Anya had forbidden the use of the Magic Box phone for long distance calls after Spike had attempted to call an old contact in Prague, gotten to talking, and raised the phone bill to astronomical levels. Privately, it was agreed that fitting half a century's worth of news into a two-hour conversation had been quite a feat, but nobody had dared to mention this to the irate ex-vengeance demon.

Supposedly, the Scoobies were researching the origins of the mysterious 'Isthmus' while Giles attempted to contact his estranged colleagues at the Watchers Council. After weeks of research had proved fruitless, they were tapping into every possible source of information that could shed light on the prophecy.

"Hey! Hand here! Get your great ugly undead feet off!"

"Shh…I can't hear…"

"Oh, *sorry*, maybe you could ask Giles to turn up the volume a little?"

If their research included crowding around the door, trying to listen to the heated argument happening within, they were doing a mighty fine job so far.

The heavy front door slammed open as Anya and Xander entered, both slightly flushed. Anya glanced quizzically at Willow, Tara, Dawn and Spike whose ears were pressed firmly to the door.

" You know, if Giles wants to spank his Mini-Watcher, it's *his* business. Dawn, I never figured you as a door listener…..perhaps having you stay at Xander's tonight isn't such a good idea…Once again with the staring!"

"Once again with the mental pictures, Ahn!"

There was a collective groan from everyone but Dawn, who just looked puzzled.

"Mini-Watcher?"

Anya snorted. " This from a girl who has supposedly hit puberty? Don't they teach you anything in Sex Ed? It's like this….."

Thankfully, Anya's explanation was drowned out by the sound of something loud and heavy hitting a wall. Strings of British cursing were audible as the door was swung open, all the Scoobies scrambling as far from the area as they could.

"The insufferable bas….." Giles looked around the room at the innocent-faced group, reining in his fury. He continued. "The Watchers Council regrets to inform us that they are unable to assist us. Apparently, because I am no longer a Watcher to an active Slayer, we are not worth their concern. They are occupied both with locating Quentin Travers and re-establishing the Slayer line ."

"Ohh-kay. So – the world is about to end, but finding Quentin the Weasel is more important? Priorities, people!" Xander fumed. Willow raised her hand timidly, forgetting that she was no longer in class.

"There's a new Slayer? But I thought… Faith... is still alive, isn't she?"

"Faith, inspirer of the new chapter in the Slayer handbook - 'When Slayers Go Bad'?"

Giles interrupted, grimacing. "Yes, Anya, that Faith. Unless you know of another. As far as I can tell, Faith is still firmly ensconced in prison, and is most certainly alive. This leaves the Council at a loss, however, as there is no active Slayer at the present, and most likely will not be one until Faith dies. From what my contacts have told me, the Council are sending a team to Los Angeles to remedy the situation."

"And do what exactly? I didn't know the Watchers could give 'get-out-of-jail-free' cards…..'specially not to rogue Slayers they've tried to kill on a number of occasions. Why do I get the feeling that Faith isn't going to pass 'Go', be given $200 and set free into the world? Cos the Council? Big on the tweed, not so great with the forgive and forget….."

As the implications of Xander's rambling and Monopoly references set in, Giles began to polish his squeaky-clean glasses yet again. It seemed there was little possibility that the Council were headed toward LA simply to set Faith free and be willing to make amends, when they had been the first to abandon her, and later attempt to assassinate her. There was precious little they could do from Sunnydale.

"Perhaps a call to Angel Investigations is in order?"

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#The City of Angels#

In a dark, steamy room, many figures could be seen carting armfuls of soiled laundry to and from huge rattling machines that lined the windowless walls. The stench of mould and damp hung in the air, cloaking all those who entered in a fine mist that seemed to seep into one's skin. In a corner, an armed guard cast a watchful eye over the proceedings, occasionally barking orders.

"You there! Watson! Pick up your feet or there'll be no meal for every one of you!"

Most of the inmates were beginning to tire, long hours working in the most hated area of all taking their toll. Some were unable to catch the heavy bundles flying at them from large metal chutes, dropping to their knees in exhaustion. Others were moving as though sleepwalking, back and forth in a never-ending rhythm that could make the most hardened of criminals dizzy.

"Hey you! In the corner! You've just earned yourself a night in solitary! On your feet, prisoner!"

Above the noise of the machinery the sound of hard batons hitting soft flesh was audible as guards converged upon the figure lying in the corner. Many of the inmates, used to such brutality, did not flinch nor turn, knowing that to do so would only seal their own fate. Those not yet hardened to the harsh realities of prison life would hear the sound echoing in their heads late into the night.

For one, the sound of muffled screams and fists striking flesh was not unusual. What was unusual, however, was not being able to strike back at the attackers in some way. Those who had claimed to 'know' Faith in Sunnydale would not have recognized this new, restrained Faith.

Wearing the appearance of one fully beaten by the system, Faith kept her head down and her mouth shut – wanting no more than to serve her time and stay out of trouble. She knew she could have easily beaten the guards to a pulp, and the fighter in her wanted nothing more.

However, deep within her heart was the fear that once she started, she would not be able to stop. Though her time inside had dulled her eyes, it had not crushed the Slayer within her. A Slayer that was merely waiting to be let out. Faith knew she was not yet ready for that to happen, so she gritted her teeth and forced her feet to move one step at a time, trying to block from her mind the memories of another time, another's screams of pain.

" Prisoner 1564! Morgan! You're wanted in the warden's office! Step it up!"

Startled, Faith dropped her smelly bundle of blue uniforms into a nearby cart, heading toward the heavy iron door. A female guard was waiting impatiently at the door, holding a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. Faith allowed the hack to fasten them around her wrists, then followed her down a long grey corridor.

To her surprise, the guard bypassed the door that led to Warden Cranston's quarters, instead using a large brass key to unlock a metal door painted the same dull color as the walls. Stepping awkwardly inside, Faith felt something uncoil itself from the base of her spine – what Buffy had once called her 'spider senses'.

Before she had a chance to look closely at the four men within the room, a pinprick in her arm sent waves of agony through her already weakened system. Her limbs convulsed with pain as she strained to hear British accents, then a chillingly familiar name spoken.

" She should be dead in mere minutes – your problem is solved. We shall see if she can fight her way out of this one, Quentin."

Her blood ran cold even as a savage kick to her head brought merciful darkness.

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A/N: Before I get roasted for poisoning Faith – I do have a purpose. And who's to say people are truly gone when they're dead?